A Delicate Touch
by The Black Sun's Daughter
Summary: A collection of missing scenes taken from Fractured when they were finally alone together...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: okay, so…pretty much, these are all the M-rated scenes from the Fractured. I wrote them separately because I didn't want to change the rating of the story by adding these scenes…and because I have a dirty mind and couldn't help myself. There will be three chapters featuring the three main couples. Some parts of it might not make too much sense if you haven't read Fractured, but they can stand alone. The italicized words at the beginning of each chapter are the words from Fractured preluding the mature scenes.**

**This first one is Cutter and Jenny, taking place between "Disarm and Desire" and "Falling to Pieces"…or just chapters 18 and 19.**

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_"Nick," she whispered, voice husky as she grasped at him. "Nick, bedroom. Now."_

_Another deep growl slipped from his throat as he lifted her off the counter, staggering down the hallway towards his room._

Jenny gasped as they staggered through the door, her back meeting the wall, and he growled in reply as her legs tightened around his waist. His lips devoured her throat and shoulder, nipping and biting gently at her, then running his tongue across the tender red marks his teeth left. Her hands raked through his hair, combing through the thick, soft strands, then slid beneath the collar of his shirt, running across the warm skin of his shoulders. His hands were on the back of her thighs, holding her tight to him, the one hand slid up her thigh to her hip then upwards, pushing beneath the hem of her blouse to her bare waist. She loved this man's hands, large and callused and strong, but also nimble, able to handle fossilised bones and ancient artefacts without breaking them. The rough calluses scraped against her tender skin, igniting friction in her flesh. "Let me down, Nick." She wriggled in his grasp. "Put me down," she repeated, and he reluctantly loosened his grip on her arse, allowing her legs to slip from his waist and lower to the floor, but when he reached for her again, she slapped his hands away. "Not yet."

"What the hell do you mean, _not yet?"_ he demanded, hardly able to force the words past his lips as she pushed against his chest, forcing him to back up into the wall. She'd practically been panting after him for weeks now, and when he finally gave in, she was pushing him away, quite literally?

"Exactly what I said," she replied, a note of feminine command in her voice that had his hackles raising. She looked up at him, face flushed, eyes bright, and lips swollen. Her fingers worked open his belt and tugged insistently at the zipper of his jeans. "I want to see those damned stripes of yours."

He stiffened slightly at the moan in her words, and from the sound of her voice, she obviously wasn't talking about the stripes on his shoulders, either. The metal zipper rasped down. "Jenny…" he cautioned as she pushed his jeans and shorts down past his hips.

There was another set of stripes on his hips, another set of four. One on his hipbones, one just above it, and two more on his thighs. To the untrained eye, the stripes were only peculiar tattoos, but she knew what them for what they really were. They were proof of the animal that lurked within, proof of how close it was to the surface. "I love those stripes," she murmured quietly, biting her lip as she stared at them.

His hand grasped her chin, tilting her head back up to him. "The stripes are not up for discussion," he warned, a carnal look in his eyes.

"Yet."

"Never."

She ignored the warning in his voice, sinking to her knees in front of him; he hissed through his teeth as her fingertips lightly skimmed over the tattoo-like marks on his hips and thighs. When her tongue followed the path of her fingertips, his head slammed into the wall behind him. "Oh, hell," he growled roughly. Her tongue was a lash of fire, exciting the hypersensitive nerves that were closer to the skin with delicate strokes. Until now, those damn stripes were his own personal shame, a permanent reminder that he wasn't human anymore, a souvenir of the torment he'd experienced, but now…. Christ, if that's what it took to get her tongue on him, he was all bloody for it. Let her lick. Hell, she could bite if she wanted to. Jenny lifted her arms, running her hands over his chest and stomach as she traced the edges of each dark stripe with her tongue. Cutter growled softly, reaching down to lace his fingers in her thick hair. "You'll pay for this, Jennifer Lewis," he warned.

"Promises, promises," she whispered, her breath dancing over the damp skin as she moved from his right leg to his left. When she teased the sensitive place where his skin was striped darker, he let out a deep-throated groan of pleasure, fingers tightening in her hair. She followed the path of the dark stripes with her tongue, feeling unaccountably pleased as she did so. Jenny knew that no other woman would get to do this. Nobody else would be permitted to caress him like this. On impulse, she raked her teeth across the stripes, scratching with her canine teeth the way he had when he bit at her throat.

"Enough!" he cried out, fisting his hands in her hair and pulling her head back. "Get up," he snarled in a feral voice.

Jenny felt a tremor of sweet arousal in the pit of her belly as she rose obediently, hands trembling as she did. She wasn't afraid of him, never afraid, but she felt…she didn't know what she felt, but it was erotic beyond belief. He wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her up as if she weighed no more than a sack of flour, carrying her towards the bed; he didn't toss her down but rather laid her down gently. He climbed up beside her, kneeling over her. Reaching down, he unbuttoned her blouse slowly, allowing more of her pale skin to come into view; a low growl of pleasure rumbled from his throat when the black lace of her bra was revealed, a stark contrast to her complexion. When the last button was undone, he pulled the blouse open, slid the fabric down her arms, and tugged it out from beneath her, tossing it aside.

She let out a sigh, tilting her head back as he kissed her throat and shoulder, raising goosepimples across her flesh. Then he began to move down, trailing more warm, damp kisses down her chest, over the slope of her breasts. He paused slightly, then slid one hand beneath her back to unhook her bra. She gave a tiny gasp as he drew it off, a cool draught of air crossing her breasts. He continued kissing every inch of her skin; a low moan burst from her throat as he took one stiff, aching nipple into his mouth. The tug of his suckling sent bolts of pleasure from her breast to her core, connected by nerve endings she'd never known existed. He moved from her left breast to her right; his tongue felt rough, just like a cat's, rasping delightfully against her tender skin. Jenny pulled insistently at his shirt, hungry to feel skin against skin, and he drew away only long enough to pull the shirt off over his head and toss it aside, leaving her free to run her hands over his shoulders and back, consigning the feel of him to memory. She felt the scars that marked his skin, and she promised that one day she'd learn the story behind each one, memorising where each one was on his flesh.

He began to move down her body, leaving a path of soft, warm kisses down her belly, and she was panting by the time his lips met the waist of her skirt. He looked up at her through his lashes, a silent question in his eyes; she nodded. He unzipped her skirt, and she lifted her hips so he could pull it off. He didn't stop there, though, because her knickers were gone as well, and now they were both entirely bare, nothing but bare skin left between them. He moved back up the bed, and her eyes came open as he moved his body over hers. Jenny felt a faint tremor beneath her breastbone. Good God, he seemed so…big, that for just a moment, she felt a little quiver of worry, but Cutter held his weight up on his elbows, supporting himself. She slid her hands over his shoulders and back, tracing her fingers along the dark stripes across his shoulders.

"Jenny, do you trust me?" he asked, voice dipping into husky, wine-rich tones she'd never heard the likes of from him before.

"Yes," she breathed back. "Yes, Nick."

He laced his fingers into her thick hair, pulling her head back so he could look at her. Even in the dim lighting she could make out his familiar, rugged features, and the intensity in his blue eyes was enough to make her quiver. A soft gasp escaped her lips as he slid into her body little by little, oh-so-slowly to keep from accidentally hurting her, until they were fully joined. She whimpered at the feel of him, toes curling on the sheets. He was bigger than she thought, filling her entirely, and after so long without a lover, she felt a slight sting of pain. For a moment he held himself still over her, but then he began to move, and her whimpers turned to gasping moans. She slid her arms around him, hands moving over the smooth, warm skin of his back and feeling the hard muscle ripple beneath the surface; her fingers tripped over the scars. Eyes closed, she braced her forehead against the ridge of his collarbone, gasping for a breath as they found a steady rhythm in their movements, unpracticed but wholly natural. She could hear him, the pound of his heart and the low noises rumbling out of his chest as they moved together, her own answers light and soft as bird talk.

Jenny clutched at his back, panting, and tasted the salty skin of his collarbone, his neck. White fire fluttered in the pit of her stomach, flames licking higher with each movement against each other, electric tingles of pleasure gliding all through her nerves and gathering between her thighs, a wave that wouldn't crest. His hand clenched in her hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to pull her head back, eyes holding her own, other hand grasping her hip and lifting her to him. He shifted somehow in their alignment, striking some previously unknown chord inside her, and she let out a whimpering moan. "Oh, God, Nick," she cried out, back arching up to him, feeling as if the moon and all the stars had imploded within her; her hands ran down his back, nails leaving stinging marks.

He buried his head against her neck, shuddering and moaning through his climax and spilling himself within her, mind going white from the overwhelming rush of pleasure. "Jenny, Jenny, Jenny," he panted, repeating her name like a mantra, breath hot and humid on her skin. He went heavy on her, trembling slightly. They stayed like that for a long while; she trailed her fingers over his back, feeling his heated flesh start to cool, skin slick with a fresh sheen of sweat. He turned his head towards hers, and she kissed his face as he kissed hers, lips brushing clumsily. After a few moments, though, he shifted, pushing his weight back up on his elbows. "I s'pose I must be gettin' heavy," he murmured sheepishly.

Jenny shook her head, stroking the softness of his hair, now dampened with sweat. "No, I like feeling you on me," she replied in just as soft a voice, tightening her arms around him to keep him from moving away. He kissed her softly, then lowered his head back to the crook of her neck, feeling his heart come back to its normal pace, his breathing levelling out. After a few moments, though, he eased out of her and rolled onto his back. She whimpered at the loss of him, even as he shivered at the harsh change. Jenny turned onto her side, snuggling against him, and he wrapped an arm around her to pull her in closer. She laid her head on him, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her cheek, fingers lightly playing with the hair on his chest; his hand stroked her back. Her lashes were half-closed when she felt the powerful chest beneath her cheek began to vibrate. Her lips curled up in a smile at the sound of his deep, grating love-growl, the contented note more pronounced than ever before.

She tilted her head up at him and smiled. "Y'know, somehow, _'I told you so'_ just doesn't quite cover it," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: this is Part II of the missing reel, featuring Stephen and Quebec, taking place between "Homeward Bound" and "Repaired" or Chapters 24 and 25.**

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"_He has a promise to keep. The others are all otherwise occupied and cannot interrupt," she murmured against his lips when they pulled apart, a wicked gleam in her eyes._

_Stephen drew her in closer to him, lips seeking hers once more, and they staggered backwards towards the bed._

As they fell backwards, her landing on top of him, he ran his hands down her body for the first time, making sure to etch every curve and hollow into his memory. She didn't have the curvaceous build his past girlfriends had, but he didn't care. He liked her lean, supple strength, liked the way her body was subtle instead of obvious, and he liked the taut muscles beneath her skin like steel cord, rippling and flexing as she moved.

"I like yours, too," she whispered into his neck, her fingers digging into his biceps; he didn't even mind when she answered his thoughts.

Stephen rolled them over on the cot so now she lay beneath him, careful to hold his weight up enough that he didn't smother her. As his mouth tracked damp kisses down her shoulder, moving towards her chest, his hands pulled at her trousers, the fabric stiff with dried blood. Quebec pushed against his shoulders, and he instantly drew back, afraid he'd done something wrong. "Q?" he asked nervously.

"It is not something you did," she replied, trying to get her erratic breath back under control. "Stephen, I must warn you. I-I am unexperienced."

"Huh?"

Swallowing hard past the lump of chagrin that'd lodged in her throat, she explained, "I do not remember my life before. That means I do not remember _anything,_ including any former sexual encounters. I don't know if I've had any at all, or if I am still an innocent. I do not know what I'm doing."

He drew back out of reflex, inhaling sharply in shock. "Oh," he said.

She tightened her hands on his shoulders. "You will not stop?" she asked anxiously.

"No, no, we won't stop, I just…I want to take this a little slower. I mean, if you are a…" He couldn't quite manage to say the word. "…inexperienced, then we ought to go slower. Take our time. Enjoy it," he murmured in a lower voice, pushing his hips against hers slightly, applying just enough pressure to make her melt against him, going all pliant and soft.

Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to hers, though now he wasn't as hungry and demanding and more explorative. She wrapped both arms around his neck, fingers pushing into the back of his hair, twisting around the fine hairs at the nape of his neck; the roughness of her gloves was a lovely contrast to the softness of her skin. When they pulled apart, they backed up enough for their noses to brush, breath warm and shared between them. This close, he could see the tiny, mysterious flecks of gold in her eyes. Stephen kissed her again, gently coaxing her lips apart with his own, and her tongue slid against his, not at all tentatively, but slow and unhurried. "See?" he murmured as they pulled apart.

"Yes. Far more pleasurable to continue slowly," she replied quietly. "More, please."

Stephen smiled and lowered his head back down to her, mouth finding hers. She tasted so good, unlike anything else he'd experienced before. He pulled away from her lips to kiss her cheek, making a path down her jaw to her neck; Quebec tilted her head back, allowing him further access. He tasted her pulse point, lips trailing down the slender curve of her neck, pressing another kiss into the soft hollow of her throat. Any further access was hindered by her clothing, so he pushed open her shredded, ripped coat and pulled it off her, tossing it aside. His fingers played at the zip of her skintight top. "May I?" he whispered against her skin.

"Yes," she murmured back, lashes half-closed. Her eyes were bright and glassy, staring up at the ceiling without seeing it. "Please do, please."

He pulled the zipper down with a rasp of metal and opened top. Underneath, all she wore was a bra, also black, a stark contrast to her milky white skin, now mottled with bruises; he slid both hands under her back, lifted her up slightly, and buried his head against her chest, nuzzling between her breasts. She groaned again, hands gripping his hair tighter. Kissing the slope of her breasts, he reached up, unhooked the front clasp her bra, and slid that off her as well.

"My ears ring," she whispered.

"Think that's the mobile."

"What mobile?"

"You really care?" Stephen asked back.

His warm lips closed around one aching nipple, the tug of his suckling sending a jolt of heated pleasure down to her core, and she arched her back into him. "No-ooo, ohhh…" she gasped back. When he pulled back, she kissed him hungrily, wrapping her arms around him, and she grasped the back of his flannel shirt, tugging at it fervently. The fabric relented beneath her hands, ripping down the back, and he leant back slightly to pull off his t-shirt before she ripped that one too. Before he could reclaim her lips, though, she planted a hand on his chest, holding him back, and then she was unbuckling his belt, drawing it off. He looked down at her questioningly. "I am not patient," she said in answer to his silent question. She pulled at his jeans stubbornly. "Remove, and I will remove mine own."

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Quebec," he replied softly, shucking off his jeans and shorts, and obediently, she shimmied out of her own. His throat went dry at the sight of her lying beneath him exposed and open. And he had never seen a sight quite so beautiful in all his life. Everything about her made him feel like melting into his shoes, and he sank down to kiss her again, wrapping both arms around her, pressing his lips into her throat. "Ready for this, Q?" he asked, whispering against her neck.

"Yes, Stephen," she replied softly.

He felt more than a little lightheaded as he settled between her legs, her dark eyes staring up into his lovingly. He took a deep breath and eased into her until his hips met hers; for a moment, his vision went a tad peculiar and his heart stuttered out of rhythm, but then he sank down to rest his head in the crook of her neck, breathing hard. Quebec moaned, running her hands across his back, gripping his shoulders, head tilted back against the pillows, toes curled on the sheets. "Oh, God," he muttered.

"Stephen, move, _move,_" she urged breathlessly, pushing her hips up against his own. He eased out of her and pushed back in, and she let out a breathy sigh of pleasure. Stephen did it again, sliding both hands beneath her back to lift her up to him, falling into steady rhythm with his movements, hearing her whimper and moan beneath him. The delightful little noises she made went straight to his groin, and he knew that he wasn't going to last very long like this. It'd been too long since he'd last been with a woman, and she felt so unbelievable, warm and soft cradled in his arms, her breath tickling his skin, hands clutching his back, legs clutched around his hips. Quebec trailed kisses across his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin, raking her teeth over his neck.

He groaned softly, feeling the familiar heat in his groin, a tingling sensation low in his stomach, heat slicking down his spine to the small of his back. His hands fisted on the sheets, and then it was all too much. He let out a deep-chested groan of pleasure as the wire-taut tension humming through him snapped. She arched her back and let out a hoarse cry with him as she reached it with him, nails digging into his shoulders.

He shuddered and went heavy on her, all the strength rushing out of him. Stephen buried his head against her neck, breathing heavily, trembling against her. Quebec ran her hands across his shoulders and back, feeling the heated skin begin to cool. She turned her head and kissed the tender crook of his neck, tasting the salty tang of sweaty skin, and one hand gently stroked the back of his hair. "My sweet Stephen," she murmured into his ear, and he let out a heavy breath, tickling her neck. After a moment, he shifted so that his entire weight wasn't pressing down atop her, and she snuggled up into his side, lying her head on his chest and feeling the play of pectoral muscle under her cheek.

"Nobody's ever called me sweet before," he said in a low voice husky with emotion.

"That is because you are sweet only to me," she answered softly, kissing his chest. Stephen gave a tiny grin and rested a hand atop her head, gently stroking her dark hair out of her face; Quebec smiled, tilting her head into his hands. He was very protective of her head. He had only a vague idea of what had been done to her, mentally and physically, but he knew that much of her torment had taken place inside her mind. In his clear, linear thinking, that translated to a very deep and tender protectiveness of her head. She liked it. The spider of doors wished to control her head, the doctors wanted to examine it, but only he wanted to protect it. "My strong _cherepakha," _she murmured quietly.

_"Cherepakha?" _he echoed in confusion.

"It is Russian. Means tortoise."

"I'm not a damn tortoise," he sighed back, but she paid him no mind. She knew that he liked it, liked the image of himself being strong and armoured, sheltering a delicate little Quebec-girl beneath his hard stony shell and keeping her safe. He hugged her closer to him, kissing her gently, and she smiled at the lovely tones of viridian, auburn, violet, and pink that swirled around inside him, mingling with her own colours, turning to a warm, prismatic shimmer humming in their thread. After few moments of silence, he lifted his head to see if she had fallen asleep. She wasn't. Rather, she had a small smile on her lips and a look of distant thoughtfulness on her face. "Uhm...Q?"

She held up one finger for silence. "I am making sure that I remember…_everything,"_ Quebec replied in her soft little voice, eyes still closed.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: and here we are, the scene for Connor and Abby. If anyone else wants to see another chapter with another pairing, so long as it's in Fractured, I will be glad to write it. This one also takes place between "Homeward Bound" and "Repaired" (Chapters 24 and 25).**

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_She could feel their…link or connection, whatever the hell it was, humming between them. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to his own._

Connor's long, clever fingers laced into her short hair, pulling her closer, tilting her head at an angle better for kissing. Abby wrapped both arms around his neck, eyes closing. His mouth was absolutely perfect, soft enough to mould to hers yet firm enough for her to still _feel_ it, moving against her own. He lightly brushed his tongue over her lips, asking permission instead of demanding it, and she willingly opened her mouth to him. A shiver moved through her body as their tongues met halfway, tentatively brushing before sliding together, slow and unhurried. _God,_ he knew how to kiss. When they pulled apart from each other, she felt lightheaded.

He felt dizzy too, but for a different reason. He wanted to speak and tell her, but his tongue was still drunk on the taste of her and could not cooperate. After swallowing a few times, he managed to speak. "Abby-bird, I—"

She placed a finger on his lips, and the simple touch sent sparks coursing down his nerves. "Connor…I love hearing you talk, but please, just this once, shut up," she said fondly, and he nodded. She lowered her hand from his mouth, he slid his fingers in her hair, and he pulled her forward for another kiss. Her hands clasped on the back of his neck, drawing him closer; she lay back on the cot, drawing him over on top of her.

When they pulled apart, he began to instead kiss her cheek, trailing down her jaw to her neck. She closed her eyes, hands wandering across his shoulders and back, pressing her fingertips into his hard muscles; he'd filled out from the geek she'd first shacked up with. He was still lean, but now he had that wiry, whipcord tension better suited to slender anyways, and she knew that he was strong. Her hands wandered down his back, sliding under the hem of his blood-stiff jacket and shirt to press against the cool, bare skin of his lower back, clutching around his lean waist. He shivered at her touch. Connor pulled her jacket off and tossed it aside, then slid both hands beneath her shirt, fingers creeping up her bare sides, his hand spread across her belly to feel her tremble under him.

His lips found the tender flesh behind her ear, and she giggled despite herself, trying to tilt her head away. Realising that he'd found a ticklish spot, he nibbled and teased at that spot, making her giggle louder and squirm. He slid a hand further up her shirt, and her giggles became soft gasps as his fingertips skimmed the bottom edge of her bra. Withdrawing his hand, he pulled her shirt up slowly, drawing it up over her head and setting it aside. Then he shrugged off his own jacket and tore his shirt off as well. She felt a pang of sympathy, seeing the darkening bruises and scratches on his pale skin, but then he leant down to kiss her again, and she was lost to the touch of his skin against hers. Reaching between them, she unhooked her bra and slipped it off, grateful that she'd invested in front-clasped bras. Her nipples abraded against his chest, sending sensation firing through her body. But when she reached down to unbuckle his trousers, he sat up and leant away. "Connor?" she whispered.

"I wish to show you more than simple gratification," he said quietly, pulled off her tartan skirt, unbuttoned her jeans, and drew down the zip, drawing them down her legs. She shivered in delight as his fingers ghosted up her bare legs to slip her knickers off as well. Then she watched as he removed his own trousers so they were both bare.

Connor knelt near the end of the cot, placing his hands on her thighs, thumbs massaging slow circles into her flesh. She watched him with baited breath as he planted a kiss on one knee, then the other. Then—_oh—_he began to kiss a trail up her legs, lavishing care on each of her legs; the rough stubble on his jaw scraped against the tender skin of her inner thigh as he rubbed his cheek against her like a cat. She closed her eyes, unable to keep them open, and he growled softly, the sound rumbling through her. He began to move up her body, taking his time with it, planting warm, wet kisses on her hipbones, up her belly, over her ribs. He nuzzled between her breasts, stubble tickling her skin, then took one stiff nipple into his mouth; his tongue was rough, almost cat-like, rasping against the hypersensitive peak. Moaning eagerly, she arched her back into him, the tug of his suckling sending pleasure firing through her nerves and gathering between her thighs. He moved from her left breast to the right, showing the same almost-worshipful attention. He peppered her chest and shoulders with more of his light, teasing kisses before trailing up her throat. Nibbling and blowing into her ear, he kissed along her jawbone. By the time that his lips found hers once again, she was panting with need, eagerly grasping at his hair. "Please, Conn," she whispered quietly; she'd never begged a man for anything, but she'd never wanted anything as much as she wanted Connor right now—on her, in her, as close as they could get. She slid her hand down and grasped his erection, tugging slightly.

With an eager moan, he moved around and got on top of her; Abby spread her legs, his hips settling between her thighs; she bucked up to him eagerly. Connor inhaled a breath and drove himself into her as deep and hard as he could. She let out a strangled cry, entire body arching against him. Connor shuddered and went heavy on her, struggling to breathe properly. The feeling of her—so warm and tight and _wet_—was enough to make him lightheaded. Once he'd figured out how to get his lungs working again, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, taking his weight off her. Abby had her eyes closed, mouth open in an expression of blissful ecstasy. He slid out of her almost entirely and then drove back in; Abby's skull met the wall behind the cot with a solid _thunk._ Connor grasped her shoulders and slid them down the cot several inches. With the next deep thrust into her, all she could feel behind her head were soft pillows; the action was so sweet and tender, so _Connor_ that she nearly cried. But then he thrust back into her and she moaned the unshed tears.

He slid his hands beneath her shoulders, gliding up the back of her neck to cradle her head in his hands, fingers snared about her hair. He slid almost entirely out of her body and drove back in; Abby let out a throaty groan of pleasure. He figured that he had to be doing something right and did it again, and again, and again. She was writhing beneath him, arching her hips to match the slightly frantic pace he'd fallen into, meeting him at each thrust. Her hands clutched at his back, panting and moaning out an array of sounds. She certainly wasn't quiet in bed even as he was silent except for his heaving breathing. He rested his forehead against hers. With hands on her sides, he slid his hands up her ribcage, coaxed her arms up above their heads, and interlocked their fingers on the pillows.

He felt her inner muscles tighten around him as she let out a strangled scream, back arching upwards into him. He muffled her cries with hard, pressing kisses until it died down and he could start again. She tightened her hands around his, lifting her head to kiss him, eager to taste him again. Already he was bringing her back towards that peak, climbing towards it. She never would have ever guessed that sex with Connor could ever be like this. She reveled in the weight of his body, the heat of his skin, the smell of coconut shampoo and blood in his hair. She marveled at the stunning orgasm that'd come from nowhere, requiring no effort on her part, and God help her, he was doing it again. Abby made no sound, mouth open in a silent scream, body quaking and shaking against him. He wasn't stopping either, moving and driving into her, drawing out her orgasm until he feared he might permanently lose circulation to his hands.

As much as she reveled in this passionate side of him, Abby wanted more. She wanted to feel him come as well, hear the noises he'd make when his mind went white from orgasm. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she clutched him into her. Staring down into her face, he began to move once again, though now with new passionate urgency. She heard the sound of the cot's edge actually striking the wall behind it, and she cried out at the vigor of his lovemaking, clutching at him with arms and legs. He could feel a sweet, tingling ache pouring all through his limbs, burning down his spine and straight into his cock. He wouldn't be able to hold on much longer like this, and he recognised the change of pitch in her voice that meant she was close as well.

He pressed his forehead against her own, and she gasped as the link between them was suddenly torn open, a mental door flung open wide. Suddenly she was inside his mind and he was inside hers, merged like two drops of water, one in mind as well as body. She could feel what he did, being within her, and he felt what she did, having him inside her. A gasping cry was torn from her lips in the form of his name as the blinding rush of orgasm flooded through her, and Connor let out a strangled sound, his vision going white as he came inside her, entire body trembling. When the last ecstatic spasm tapered away, he collapsed on top of her, feeling like his skeleton had been pulled out. Abby wrapped her arms around him, cradling his head to her chest and stroking his hair. Their minds came apart, separating from each other, as whatever overwhelming connection they shared thinned away. "Hey, don't fall asleep on me now," she murmured, planting a kiss atop his hair whilst curling her fingers around his sweat-damp hair.

Connor slid down the bed some so he could press his head against her chest, lightly nuzzling her breasts. The short, wiry hair of his almost-beard scraped wonderfully against her bare skin, and she felt his soft breath tickle her skin. He took such soft little breaths, like a little kid would, barely audible; sometimes she felt like a bellows, breathing so loud. He closed his eyes and pressed his ear against her chest. "Such a nice sound. Clean and steady, body's metronome. Tock…tock…tock," he murmured softly.

Her warrior-nerd had a real thing about her heart, she'd noticed. More than once she'd wake up to have his head resting against her chest, cheek resting just above her heart, his breathing slowing to match its rhythm.

"Because it is mine and only mine. Nobody else may have it, and nobody else will," he replied; she didn't even mind when he answered the thoughts in her head without her saying them aloud. "You don't mind?"

"Nope."

"It is hard sometimes, telling auditory input from cerebral, especially when so closely linked," he said quietly, lashes half-closed.

"I know, baby." Abby hugged his head to her breast, stroking his thick, soft hair, her heart pounding as she managed to get her breathing back under control. She pressed her cheek to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled so good, like sweat and musk, and she could feel him breathing heavily against her chest. "Love, sweet love," she whispered into his hair.

"I didn't think the day I woke in the Complex could ever be supplanted," he murmured quietly.


End file.
